


Whiteout

by ecotone



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: F/F, iron lords vs. warlords, the peak is a pvp enabled zone
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-19
Updated: 2017-12-19
Packaged: 2019-02-16 23:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13064052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ecotone/pseuds/ecotone
Summary: Add a dozen newly-Risen to a snowstorm, Perun thinks, and you're just asking for trouble.





	Whiteout

“Now is the winter of our discontent,” Skorri hums, her face half-buried in the hood of Perun’s cloak. The warm fur scratches at her cheeks, and when she grins it catches in her teeth. “Made glorious summer by this Sun-” 

Across from her Gheleon sighs, wraps his cloak tighter around his ears. “Freezing to death would be kinder,” he mutters, drawing his knees further up against his chest. Perun snickers. Skorri grabs at one of her gloved hands, sends flames swirling down their interlinked fingers- a poor admonishment, she knows, but she’s too comfortable for anything else. 

There are eight of them crowded into Vostok’s main building, a hastily-built fire their only real source of warmth. The stained wooden doors are older than they are; with every gust of wind, freezing air blows in from the gaps between the oak and the cold stone floor. Idly, Perun considers stringing Felwinter up for suggesting that they spend the night in here. Maybe it’s a clever ploy to force them off his Peak, so that he and Timur can continue studying whatever odd marvels they’ve found in peace- relative peace, if Timur’s involved. If Perun had her own mountain she reckons she’d do the same. 

“What play?” She asks instead, turning to look at the crown of Skorri’s head. 

“Don’t know the name,” Skorri replies, sighing as her pillow shifts just out of reach. “Something old- by Golden Age standards, even. Tyra found it while she was in Trostland, gave me a copy.” 

“Not gonna finish it?” 

“Too tough of a crowd,” Skorri says, shooting a well-meaning glare in Gheleon’s direction. He mimes throwing a knife at her; in turn, she flings a few sparks at his feet. One lands on his boot and he scoops it up in his hands, grows it into a lump of molten solar. When it doesn’t explode he tucks it into his hood, as if he isn’t one misstep away from turning his skull into something undesirable. 

Skorri almost gets a word out- something snarky about that Light being a little too warm for a pillow, maybe- but Perun straightens, puts one hand on the hilt of her belt-knife, uses the other one to pluck her hand cannon from the blue shimmer of transmat. Polaris flashes in, green-grey shell drawn tight around her core. She glances around, notes the rest of the Wolves, then blinks back out, content in her charge’s safety. 

“What?” Efrideet murmurs, sleepy, as she picks her head up from Saladin’s shoulder. His Axe is already blazing- another small source of heat, Efrideet’s idea- and he holds it out as he gets to his feet. Efrideet drags herself upwards, struggles through a yawn as she tries to figure out what sniper scope is best when she can’t see a foot in front of her. If anyone else had drawn their gun it’d be a game, an invitation for target practice or some other way to pass the time. But Perun isn’t smiling Hunter-sly like she does when she’s playing, and the others are clever enough to heed her strange foresight. 

Jolder uncurls herself from the fire, takes the heavy machine gun from her back and swings it Efrideet’s way. “Someone coming?” She asks, grinning as the other catches it deftly. Efrideet laughs, hefts the gun up to test its weight. The gold paint looks molten in the firelight, like she’s got her Gun out but instead of three shots she has fifty. 

Perun nods, heads for the south door just as it bursts open. Jolder almost puts a bullet through Radegast’s head before she realizes it’s him, Silimar following close behind. 

“Rience,” one of them says, voice muffled beyond all recognition beneath iron and fur. Both of them are covered in snow, green-bronze armor dusted white. One- Radegast, judging by the Solar pouring down his arms- lifts a flaming hand and it all sloughs off, dripping to the ground. “Two miles out.” 

“Not my floor,” Felwinter deadpans, finally moving to get up and stand with the rest of them now that his quiet conversation is over. Timur laughs beside him, hooking an arm around Felwinter’s elbow to be dragged up along with him. Felwinter’s Ghost flashes in to survey the damage, sighs, then leaves in a blur of transmat-static. Timur says something behind his hand and Felwinter flashes cobalt-teal exasperation at him, half-carries them both to the edge of the crowd. 

Skorri’s Radiance flares up against Silimar, heat turning snow to snowmelt and lukewarm water. “He’s not coming himself, surely. We’ve never had a dispute with him!”

“If he’s not, who’s coming in his place?” Perun asks, hand cannon holstered, arms crossed. Beside her Efrideet’s fingers spark, the imprint in her Light reading nothing but nervous excitement. The nervousness, if Perun had to guess, from the fact that her eyes are as good as useless in the storm, and the excitement from the prospect of a good fight. 

“Couldn’t tell. Just saw the sigil.” Silimar shrugs, and the rest of the snow slides off his shoulders with a wet thud. “Looked like a dozen- probably all new-Risen. Storm’s bad. Only the youngest would take him up on the offer.” 

Jolder laughs, runs a hand down the shining metal of her helmet. “I thought he was the smart one.” 

“It’s probably Melig,” Felwinter says, skimming his boot against the melting snow. “Rience isn’t subtle, but he’s not an idiot. But Melig- yesterday morning he lost a duel to one of Citan’s new charges. It cost Rience a third of his territory.” 

“So he’s trying for yours,” Perun replies, and beside her Skorri can feel the pulse of satisfied Arc that comes with a puzzle solved. “He thinks the surprise will confuse us in the storm. Then he can surround the Observatory, kill us all, and take the Peak.”

“This isn’t exactly formal.” Jolder shifts her weight onto one foot like she’s about to shoulder charge someone. “We’re not running sixes, by the sound of it. If he’s targeting Ghosts, then-” she pauses, pretends to consider- “we’ll have to hit harder than him.” 

“And if their Ghosts end up halfway across the Cosmodrome, we don’t know anything about it,” Efrideet adds, laughing. Jolder laughs along with her, rests an elbow on her fur-padded shoulder. 

Gheleon shakes his head, tilts it just so that Perun catches his eye roll. “Oh, good,” he says, quiet, “I thought you were going to tell us to be careful.” 

Perun snorts, pushes her arms behind her back until her spine pops. “They’re coming straight from Rience’s land, so they’ll approach from the northwest entrance. Melig’ll likely split his troops- good for us, ‘sidering the weather. Probably march straight up the Peak, try to come into the Temple from the bridge.” 

“And what do we do?” Felwinter asks. It’s a gesture of trust, Perun knows- a Warlord that’s held a mountain for twenty-four years knows how to defend it. They’ve talked about it, in passing; where the weak points are, the secret places a Hunter can take advantage of. 

She hums, the same song Skorri always sings when she’s writing to keep herself on-beat. “Two teams of three to get rid of the new-Rose. Titans stay here to get rid of Melig and whoever manages to make it up the mountainside.” 

“So, no one,” Jolder says. Saladin frowns. 

“At least one,” Efrideet replies. “And he’s the biggest.” 

The ten of them hastily finish their preparations, sorting themselves into groups and outlining paths. Perun gives Gheleon his own route to look for straying Risen, because she knows that eventually he’ll get bored of the Warlock-talk and go off on his own hunt. 

Jolder extinguishes the fire as Efrideet throws open the doors to the Observatory, letting the cold air in. She pulls her helmet over her face, winds her cloak around her shoulders to keep it from trailing. “It’s freezing,” she complains. 

“It’s always freezing up here.” Skorri grins and takes her bond off so that it doesn’t give her away in the dark, winds it around her wrist. Her Ghost flashes in once she’s done, and her fusion rifle lands neatly in her hands. 

“The cold is part of the charm,” Timur says, picking at the fur collar of Felwinter’s robes. 

“Yeah, the only part.” 

Jolder pokes her head through the north door. “Alright, time to go terrorize the little ones,” she says, lifting her helmet so her grin pokes through. “Leave at least a few for me- I haven’t had patrol duty all week.” 

Perun nods, snickering, and then they’re in the rush of transmat. Polaris sets them down halfway up the mountain, near the overpass where the City-builders come through to ask for advice or the Iron Lords’ presence. The three of them are in the shadow of an overhang; around them, the snow comes down. 

Skorri exhales, harsh- transmat always catches her off guard- and pushes her Light down so that it’s unnoticeable to anyone not accustomed to its hum. Efrideet does the same, her odd maelstrom of Solar-Arc-Void quieted into the dull non-presence of a sniper. 

Sixty feet out something flashes for a half-second, and Efrideet digs her knuckles in between Perun’s ribs. “Two behind the rocks,” she says, quiet over their helmet-comms. “One got too bright trying to get warm, kicked up the other’s Light.” 

They sit and watch for another few minutes, just in case one of the two gets up to look around. Judging by how far back they are, the pair are probably watchguards- judging by their stillness, Perun thinks, they’re not very dedicated. 

Efrideet unsheathes her belt-knife, allows Arc to roll over her knuckles- without a rifle, her patience never seems to hold up for long. “I’ll get them,” she whispers, “just give me a distraction.” 

Perun turns so that she catches Skorri’s attention, taps an arm against her bicep. Skorri nods, holsters her rifle, digs her still-dark bond out from under her sleeve. Efrideet takes it and slinks forwards, slow and careful, until she’s a few feet away from the Sparks’ hiding spot. 

“Now,” Perun says, and Skorri’s Ghost flips her bond’s light back on just as Efrideet flings it over the rocks. 

Even from sixty feet back they can hear the confusion as the two charges scramble upwards, trying to stand and draw their guns and throw grenades at the same time. Efrideet lunges behind them both and takes them out one-two with her knife, kicking Arc into the strikes to keep them down. 

Perun and Skorri hurry over, Perun scooping up the two Ghosts and stuffing them in her pocket. Polaris transmats the bodies to the Temple, not wanting to lose them in the snow. 

Skorri taps into Jolder’s comm-channel. “Two down,” she says, pleased. 

“Gheleon’s been checking Efrideet’s sniper nests. He got a view of Melig- he’s coming up the main route with four.” 

Skorri laughs. “Sniper nests, in this weather?” 

“Melig’s already trying to take the Peak during a snowstorm,” Jolder says, “we might as well make sure he’s not going all out. Felwinter caught two down by the lifts. See you soon.” 

“How many?” Perun asks, leaning down to pick up Skorri’s bond. Idly, she considers Dawning presents, bonds versus robes versus new notebooks with intricate covers. 

“Four dead, four with Melig.” 

Perun nods. “Other four are probably coming up before Melig. Make an entrance, wear the Titans out before the rest get there.” She hands the bond over, gets a warm wave of solar-warmth in return. 

Efrideet shoots a quick message to Saladin, kicks up some snow. “Should we cut them off or go for Melig’s three?” 

“Melig’s. Jolder will be happier if we leave her five.” 

Skorri laughs, and then they start back up the mountain, because in this weather there’s too great of a chance for short-range transmat to drop them right on top of Melig. Perun finds the best footfalls even under a steadily-growing blanket of snow and Skorri melts them, keeps them warm so that they don’t ice over and send them sprawling down the Peak. 

A quarter of a mile out, Efrideet hears the gunfire first. When she stills Perun stops, too, and listens to the staccato of machine gun fire, the off-rhythm beat of a shotgun. If she closes her eyes and divorces herself from reality she can imagine Skorri in the main room of the Temple, sitting at the side table under the window, tapping her foot and knocking her pencil against the stone wall. 

She feels a push of careful Void behind her and turns, sees Felwinter, waves him over. Timur follows, brushing snow from his helmet. 

"Jolder commed us when the shooting started," Felwinter says. "She said you three were coming up."

“They might need the help more than us,” Efrideet says, pointing loosely up and over her shoulder. When Felwinter tilts his helmet towards her she sighs, drops her hand. “Okay. We’re going after Melig’s three and you’re both too loud to help.” 

Felwinter snorts, an exhalation of static, and next to him Timur laughs. “We’ll take our leave, then,” Timur says, toying with the medallion hanging around his neck. “If we walk slow enough they’ll all be ash by the time we arrive.” 

Above them there’s a yell and a crash, followed by Jolder’s loud laughter carrying itself down the mountainside. Felwinter’s Ghost drops in to transmat the two up, sends them away in a rush of blue-white-grey. 

“So,” Skorri says. “Melig’s not up there yet, but he’s not that far back because we didn’t see him. Bets on him being in the old outbuilding?” 

“I’m not betting against,” Perun replies, grinning beneath her helmet. “Let’s see if we can get all three before Melig notices. If not, Jolder’s had her fun.” 

The walk to the outbuilding is quiet, though the din above them is noise enough. Every minute or so Efrideet cranes her neck to try and get a glimpse of the mayhem. “I hope someone’s recording,” she says. 

When they crest the hill to the outbuilding Perun finds a watchguard hanging out by the crates and attempting to see the commotion above, too. Efrideet catches him in the throat with her throwing knife and her Ghost grabs the body before the other’s can, sends it up to the Temple. 

Perun ducks around into the building and finds the other two, one half-asleep and the other on their comm line, desperately trying to help out one of the Risen above them. Through the other doorway she can see Melig pacing in the snow, waiting for the last of the yelling to die down so he can make his advance up into the Observatory. 

She waves Efrideet and Skorri in and Skorri palms the awake one in the helmet, burning through the comms to keep them silent. Perun transmats in her sidearm and gets the sleeping one, Polaris catching the body before it falls and sending it to the ever-growing pile. Skorri grabs the Ghost and tucks it into one of her pockets. 

Efrideet waves a hand at the still-pacing Melig, who’s seemingly growing more irritated and regretful by the minute. “Let me?” She asks, and Perun can hear the smile in her voice. It’s not a sniper rifle, but the Gun’s sharpshooting all the same. 

“After you,” Skorri says, and Efrideet steps out from the outbuilding, armor shifting from green-silver-bronze to molten gold. The Gun takes Melig out in one- a headshot, Perun thinks, expect nothing else- and so she jumps up the ledge to the stairs, hits two of the others so that they bloom into orange light. She laughs, and Perun and Skorri follow her up. 

Skorri sings some new City song she’d heard on the radio as she goes Radiant, flinging grenades down on the hastily-revived two that Efrideet had shot, at the one that’s still attempting to shotgun-rush Jolder even if it’s gotten him killed twelve times. The fourth ducks out of the way, doesn't see Gheleon waiting in the shadow of the stairwell, and gets a knife in the back for her troubles. When the four of them come back in a column of blue light Perun’s Arcblade comes behind to drop them, again. Where her Arc Light connects with the bright trails Skorri leaves behind her it sparks, sends out sharp waves of Light like a thunderclap. 

With Melig dead and his Ghost taken the remaining four attempt a retreat after a few more minutes, scrambling down the snowy mountainside. Efrideet takes them out neatly for the last time, four bodies with three bullets. They’re transmatted back and Jolder gathers the Ghosts in her arms and the eight of them start towards the Peak, talking and laughing. 

“That was fun,” Skorri says, and Perun thinks of the first time they met, in the middle of the forest forty miles east of Caspian, back when the territory belonged to some Warlord long-dead, now. Skorri had come in blazing from nowhere and burned the raiders Perun was tracking to the ground, leaving nothing but ashes and a neat ring of smoldering grass. 

Perun hums, and Skorri takes her helmet off and smiles, and in front of them Jolder makes some joke about how this was better than any Crucible match could dream to be, Shaxx, better take notes. 

They arrive back and Saladin lights the fires, and he and Efrideet go off to feed the wolves their dinner. Skorri and Perun and Jolder line up the Warlords’ Ghosts and debate where to send them, to Rience or the bottom of the Peak or in the middle of the Mothyards.

Eventually, Skorri tells them that they’ll find their charges on the doorstep of the fledgling City. “It’s a reminder of how barbarism is falling to civilization,” she says, half to the corpses, half to the other Lords. “How we’re leaving this Dark Age, and how the City is pulling us out of it.” 

Polaris transmats the bodies and the twelve Ghosts flash out, sullen. Perun leans against Skorri and says, “Barbarism, huh?”

Skorri laughs and pushes at her arm and says, “Yes, barbarism, we’re all nicknamed after animals anyway,” and the two of them retreat inside to the warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> It's cold out, so here's some season-appropriate fic. Skorri's bit at the beginning is from Richard III. 
> 
> Thank you for reading! Comments appreciated, as always. <3


End file.
